


Song of the Dark Bird, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, First Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of Glorfindel in Gondolin, and the growth of a woman's love from selfish to heroic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of the Dark Bird, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Moriel stood on a balcony of a high, white tower. The pale colour of the  
stones contrasted beautifully with her jet-black hair and dark blue velvet  
dress decorated with grey pearls. Beneath her spread the valley of  
Gondolin, blooming in its glory. Birds sang and butterflies danced, but  
Moriel's heart knew no peace. No sunshine would lighten the dark chambers  
of her soul. She smiled but rarely, and never laughed.

 

 

A man entered the balcony. He had golden hair and shining eyes. He smiled  
often and his laughter was like music. Even now he was smiling, as he  
greeted Moriel.

 

 

'Ah, there you are, Moriel. I was looking for you.'

'Pray what for, Glorfindel?' she asked.

'For a decision only my best friend can make.'

He showed her two golden rings, one plain, the other ornamental.

'Which one shall I give to Quesseriel?'

Moriel barely managed to prevent tears streaming from her eyes. So it had  
become this serious.

She pointed at the plain ring.

'This would suit her better, I believe, for Quesseriel likes to wear plain  
clothes.' Indeed, Quesseriel the bird-maiden would not wear velvet and  
pearls even to any high celebration; her clothes were always light and  
airy.

'Thank you. I suppose it takes a woman to know a woman. Take this in return  
of your advice.'

 

 

Glorfindel tossed the ornamental ring at her and departed. Moriel put the  
ring in her finger and started daydreaming.

 

 

In her dream she lay on Glorfindel's strong arms, as the elf-lord promised  
her his undying love. The ring was now a token of the promise, not just a  
piece of jewellery in which Gondolin was so rich. After a while, however,  
her dreams vaporised, as a familiar voice called out:

 

 

'Moriel! Have you seen Glorfindel?' It was Quesseriel, clad in a garment  
white as a swan's wing, her white hair flowing open. Bird-maiden she was  
well-named, for her feathery hair and slender bones.

'Yes I have. He was here but a moment ago. And I think he is looking for  
you, little sister.' The maiden departed, going to find her loved one.  
Quesseriel was Moriel's younger sister, younger by over six hundred years.  
They were as different as day and night. Moriel was filled with poetic  
longing, indeed she was a poet. Quesseriel was light-minded in many ways,  
for she never worried about tomorrow. Moriel and Glorfindel were of age,  
and had been best friends all their lives. But it was Quesseriel that he  
loved and adored, for Moriel's grief, for she had begun to love Glorfindel  
in a new way that was more than friendly.

 

 

Moriel looked thoughtfully at her ring. It was engraved with tiny filigree  
feathers. Of course; it had been intended for the bird-maiden. Must  
everything remind her of what she could not have? She started composing a  
sad poem.

 

 

Birds have wings and they fly

High in the open sky

Lovers give rings and they fly

No-one can reach them though they try

The wise know things and they fly

They think of things like how and why

I have no wings and I cry

Alone under the starry sky.

 

 

Moriel sung the sorrow-filled words in her beautiful, dark voice. A raven  
flew to the railing of the balcony.

'Creeh! Pretty song! Now will you give me nuts?' The bird spoke in a  
cracking voice.

Moriel smiled one of her rare, glorious smiles at the little winged  
creature. She had named him Erec, the Lonely One, for he had fallen from  
his nest as a fowl and been abandoned by his mother. She had taught him to  
speak, and he had indeed learned well, smart animal as he was.

'Here's for you, my faithful friend. Never find a girlfriend, do you hear  
me, never!' She took some nuts from the little velvet bag she was carrying  
and fed the bird from her hand.

'Creeh! Men give trouble?' Erec asked.

'Well said, my friend. Men give trouble.'

'You are my songbird, Moriel.' This was Erec's old compliment, which he had  
invented when he had first heard of Quesseriel's nickname. This time,  
Moriel did not smile.

'Birds have wings and they fly...' Erec tried to sing. Moriel gently  
caressed her friend's black feathers.

Some years ago, Erec had gained lordship over all the ravens of Gondolin,  
for he was a wise bird though he sometimes behaved like a jester. The raven  
King was old, but he never forgot the kindness of the elven maiden who had  
saved his life. Nor her nuts.

 

 

Some days later, when the engagement of Glorfindel and Quesseriel had been  
publicly announced, Moriel was sitting in the chambers of princess Idril  
Celebrindal. She was one of her favourite poets and also a trusted friend.  
Now she had been singing old love songs, accompanying herself with a harp,  
as Idril and all her ladies-in-waiting listened.

'Something troubles you now, Moriel, or else you would not have chosen all  
those tragic stories', Idril said.

'You know me, my lady. Am I not called Moriel Sorrow-Eyes?'

'I think there is more this time. Why don't you tell me?'

'All right, since you insist, my lady, but I would like to talk to you in  
privacy.'

'Leave us.' She gestured at the ladies.

'It is about Glorfindel. I cannot help but love him.'

'I see. Is that why you have turned down so many proposals?'

'My heart is mine no longer, my lady.'

'And now he is engaged.'

'Yes, and all is lost to me.'

'Does he know about your feelings?'

'No, but I know about his feelings for my sister. He tells me everything.'

'Why don't you tell him everything?'

'I dare not spoil our friendship.'

'And what does Quesseriel know?'

'Nothing. We are not very close, what with this age-distance and all.'

'I think you should tell them. Otherwise, they will hurt you many times  
unintended.'

'Maybe you are right, my lady.'

 

 

Moriel started looking for an opportunity to speak to Glorfindel in  
private. Most of the time he was either in the company of Quesseriel, or  
seeing to his duties as the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.  
Finally, however, Moriel met him alone walking in a garden.

 

 

'Glorfindel, I must talk with you.'

'What about?'

Moriel suddenly found no words for her feelings, a new sensation to a poet.

 

 

She kissed Glorfindel on the mouth.

 

 

'About that. I love you.'

The look on his face was incredulous. Almost automatically, his lips had  
answered the kiss. He dared not believe that it had really happened, that  
Moriel would have such feelings for him, Moriel, his trusted friend.

 

 

'You know my heart, Moriel.'

'I know. But I had to try.'

 

 

They looked at each other in silence for a long time.

 

 

Then Glorfindel ventured:

'Let us be friends.'

'Yes. Friends', said Moriel, her heart in pieces.

 

 

Some weeks later, Moriel was sitting on a courtyard, next to a fountain,  
practising her harp. A tall, dark-haired man approached.

'Poet, I wish to speak to you.'

'Yes, my lord?'

'Call me Maeglin, please.'

'As you wish, my... Maeglin.'

He smiled wryly.

'I wish that had not been a slip of the tongue.'

'Excuse me?'

'Ah, how should I speak to a word-weaver, that she would not think me rude  
and unlearned? But try I must. Moriel, the song you sang was one of Tilion  
yearning for Arien. But what if the moon would turn his face from the sun  
and look at a tiny star that wishes to be noticed? Your songs are a wine  
that has made me drunk. A dry, strong wine, so full of noble sorrow. You  
are the moon I reach for. Moriel, would you marry me?'

 

 

Maeglin, the lord second highest in the kingdom, knelt down at Moriel's  
feet.

 

 

And Moriel stood up and was silent. But she smiled. It was a dark smile  
full of a sentiment altogether new to her: it was not love, but desire. For  
Maeglin was handsome to look at, and full of the passion of youth in all  
his doings. Moriel began to desire also for power; maybe it would soothe  
the raw wounds in her soul, and offer her life a new meaning. She feared to  
wither in loneliness, becoming hollow inside, a shadow, an echo. With  
Maeglin, she might escape that fate.

 

 

'I will. I will indeed.'

 

 

And Moriel laughed. Maeglin stared at her in disbelief. In front of him  
stood a strange Moriel, her heavy dark green dress flowing majestically as  
she lifted her arms high in a gesture of - what? Joy? Worship? Or something  
else, something darker, dark as her name. The Black Lady.

 

 

Their wedding was a grand event. All Gondolin celebrated it for a week.  
Maeglin gave Moriel a ring with a black diamond in it. The ravens danced in  
the air. The last day of the week Glorfindel and Quesseriel also got  
married.

 

 

One night Moriel lay in bed beside her new husband. Suddenly Maeglin began  
to speak in his sleep.

'Idril, oh Idril, finally I have you!'

Moriel was shocked. She had thought Maeglin was hers, that he loved her or  
at least desired her. But all the time he had loved another. Moriel slapped  
him hard on the face. He woke up with a start.

'Ouch! Who did that?'

'Idril Celebrindal!'

'Huh? Moriel?'

'You filth! You love her more than me! You were moaning her name!'

'So what? I know whom you love, my wifeling. That golden-headed nothing,  
Glorfindel!'

'And is Idril's hair any less golden? And your feelings less than mine?'

'Yet you married me.'

'And you married me!'

'So... we are married.'

'And the pot is calling the kettle black.'

Suddenly, the tension snapped like a strained harp-string. Their embrace  
was a fiery one for it had much frustration to quench.

 

 

Nine months later their son was born. Eru Iluvatar must have a sense of  
humour, for the hair of the child was like spun gold. But his eyes were his  
father's, dark and deep. They named him Malor, the Golden One.

 

 

Malor was an easy child. Quietly he played with the colourful jewels his  
father brought him from the mines under the mountains. Smiling, he listened  
his mother sing merry songs of butterflies and flowers, forests and  
waterfalls. Moriel became a devout mother, motherhood was indeed the only  
solace she had. Her husband loved her not, and power had turned out to be  
the most hollow thing of all.

 

 

One golden afternoon Moriel sat under a silver-leafed willow, with her son  
playing nearby. Suddenly a bird landed to the ground next to her. It bowed.

'Creeh! and triple creeh for the Black Songbird, Raven-tamer, Lady Moriel  
of Gondolin!'

Moriel stood up and curtsied with mirth in her eyes.

'Hail, King of Ravens, Erec the Wise, The Lonely One!'

Little Malor toddled to watch the strange exchange.

'May I present my son, Malor, the Golden One.'

'Greetings, young man! Do you know your mother is the fairest songbird in  
all Gondolin?'

Malor stared at Erec with a serious face.

'I have not seen you for a long time, Erec. Not after my wedding, in fact.'

'I got married too, to the prettiest little raven ever born.'

'Married? You? Congratulations, then.'

'Did you miss me? Oh, please say you did!'

'I missed you. I had to feed my nuts to squirrels, and they don't give  
thanks half as politely.'

'Creeh! Squirrels, by my tailfeathers! Speaking of nuts...' Erec cocked his  
head to one side.

Smiling, Moriel helped Malor feed the bird.

 

 

Suddenly a change came over Maeglin. It happened after he had been away  
from home longer than usual. He began to look at his son like he had never  
seen him before, or like he would never see him again. And suddenly he was  
all too gentle towards his wife. Moriel could not help thinking he was  
apologising for something.

 

 

And the days passed and the people of Gondolin were gathered waiting for  
the sunrise on the day of Summer's Gate, a great celebration. But a red  
glow topped the mountains in the north, not in the east. And too soon all  
the realm was full of the troops of Morgoth, balrogs and dragons, and orcs  
too numerous to be counted.

 

 

The Gondolians did not give up without a battle, however. Many deeds of  
great valour were done that day. Dragons were slain by knights in shining  
armour, the bright blades of Gondolin were smeared with the slimy blood of  
orcs. The ravens of Erec flew to battle too, plucking out the eyes of orcs,  
too fast to get caught, too small to get hit.

 

 

And the women and children were caught in the middle of all this. Malor was  
four years old then, and he clung to his mother in despair, for the two of  
them were surrounded by a group of orcs. Maeglin was nowhere in sight to  
save his family. Moriel had no weapon but her harp, and what was she doing  
but playing it, trying to calm her son so that he could at least die  
happily asleep. This puzzled the orcs so that they did not move for a  
moment. And a moment was enough: there came a warrior in the most wonderful  
of armours and slew all the orcs. He was none other than Tuor himself.

 

 

Moriel began to seek for Maeglin and Tuor for his wife and son, and at the  
same moment they found them, for Maeglin had captured Idril and Eärendil.  
Moriel stared at the scene in horror, even as Tuor fought Maeglin and the  
traitor fell off the city wall, and little Malor watched also, and  
remembered always what kind of a man his father had been.

 

 

Tuor and Idril then gathered all the people they could find, and led them  
to the secret escape route they had prepared.

 

 

The mountain path was troublesome and should have taken Moriel's full  
attention. Nonetheless, she found herself thinking about her marriage. She  
had supported Maeglin in his opinion of not leaving Gondolin. She had  
abandoned Idril's friendship because of both politics and jealousy. And now  
Idril and Tuor helped her, the widow of the traitor.

 

 

Suddenly the people walking in front of Moriel halted. She looked up, and  
saw terror embodied. A balrog blocked the path. It had orcs with it, too.

 

 

A musical voice called:

'Begone, foul spirit! Your heart is empty and your fire is but a mockery of  
light! You were of a glorious house but you gave it up for drinking the  
vomit of Morgoth! Go now and take these mountain-worms with you, or take  
eternal death from my sword!' It was the voice of Glorfindel, but at the  
moment he looked more than elven. He was like an ambassador of the distant  
west, with the power of Eönwë the weaponsmaster, as he lifted his great  
sword, Orcrist.

Then spoke the balrog:

'What have we here but a withering flower to be plucked and burned! Fear,  
you powerless one, for I will take pleasure in your death! All glory to  
Morgoth!'

 

 

They attacked each other. It was a grand battle. Their weapons moved faster  
than eye could see, they danced a dance of death, forgetting all else,  
forgetting, indeed, that they were at the edge of a cliff.

 

 

They fell together.

 

 

Too late came Thorondor to save him, but his eagles killed all the orcs,  
and he brought Glorfindel's corpse from the depths. The elves buried him at  
the cliff and continued their journey to safety.

 

 

Many a song was sung of brave Glorfindel, most of them by Moriel the  
Harper. Quesseriel was mad of sorrow, she tore at her beautiful hair and  
refused to eat. Little Malor had turned so inwards that no speech, no joy,  
no touch could reach him. He stopped speaking. They lived at Nan-tathren by  
Sirion at that time.

 

 

One night Moriel met Ulmo in a dream. He was a whisper of the waves, a song  
of the sea, and he spoke of a way for things to be better. Moriel could  
heal her sister and save her son from the gloom in which he lived.

 

 

The following morning Moriel took Quesseriel and Malor to the seashore. She  
put Malor in her sister's arms and told them to take care of each other.  
Then she climbed a cliff, singing, and threw herself down into the waves.  
Quesseriel screamed, but Malor did not say a word.

 

 

They waited. It started to rain. A raven screamed: 'O Sorrow! O  
Loneliness!' They waited for Moriel to return. She was their only link to  
sanity. She had fed them like babies, she had washed them and dressed them  
and always helped them in their shared madness. Finally, a body floated to  
the shore. But it was not Moriel's.

 

 

Moriel had gone to meet Mandos. She had an appeal to make. A trade, a soul  
for a soul. Herself to sing songs of eternal night in the halls of the  
dead. There was one who had always been able to arrange matters. One who  
had never failed her, save once. But now she was beyond those selfish  
feelings. Moriel had grown to be a light in the night during the years of  
sorrow at Nan-tathren. But she was more than willing to give way to the sun  
of the day.

 

 

Glorfindel stood up on the sand. The clouds parted and allowed the sun to  
make a halo of his golden hair. He embraced Quesseriel and looked at Malor  
with puzzlement, for his memory was hazy.

 

 

'Is he our son?'

'Yes.'


End file.
